Soundtrack of Shibuya
by the cantarella of odile
Summary: Music sits atop the cityscape like smog, heavy and stifling and impossible to overlook./ A collection of TWEWY drabbles and oneshots.
1. Soundtracks and Cityscapes

**Disclaimer: **_TWEWY _and all related characters and concepts do not belong to me.

**Summary:** A collection of drabbles and oneshots, all revolving around the various characters and pairings of _TWEWY_. Requests are more than welcome.

**A/N:** While the first four chapters will be short in length, since they're cross-posted from my tumblr account, chapter five and onwards will be longer in length.

-Track #1: _Soundtracks and Cityscapes._ Joshua-centric; implied JoshNeku. /Prompted by sillygoosemuffin. Cross-posted from my tumblr account.

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**Soundtracks and Cityscapes**

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Music sits atop the cityscape like smog, heavy and stifling and impossible to overlook. It's streaked with sameness, and the uniformity of everyone's thoughts paints it in hues of lavender and gray. Joshua seats himself on top of his usual place on top of the 104 building, letting his legs dangle.

(Buried in the thorniest parts of Joshua's mind, he knows that this is not strictly true— he knows that if he looks hard enough, he'll see all the colours that make up Shibuya's music, the anxious greens, passionate oranges, and youthful yellows that add their own individuality to the symphony and make it what it is.)

A familiar trill splinters through the city's overarching soundtrack, loud and demanding with its new-found determination. It's marbled with bravery and bullheadedness and the urge to _try, _and its melody splashes blue against the city's dull backdrop. It's the kind of music that demands to be listened to, and for a moment he gets swept up in how easy it would be to materialize in the RG, how effortless.

(But for now he just smiles as that brash blue song passes by him, becoming just close enough to touch before the boy it belongs to gets swallowed up in the crowds of Shibuya once again.)


	2. The Mobius Function

**Disclaimer: **_TWEWY _and all related characters and concepts still don't belong to me. Upsetting, I know.

**Summary:** Track #2: _The Mobius Function. _Written for the six-word-story challenge. Sho-centric./Prompted by Anonymous. Cross-posted from my tumblr account.

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**The Mobius Function**

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Failure didn't factor into the equation.

(The moon dropped on him anyways.)


	3. Featherstone

**Disclaimer: **Is it bad that I'm still holding out for a sequel? Because I am. I would probably sacrifice my first-born child for a sequel._  
_

**Summary:** Track #3: _Featherstone._ Written for the six-word-story challenge. Hanekoma-centric; implied SanaeJosh./Prompted by Anonymous. Cross-posted from my tumblr account.

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**Featherstone**

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Betrayal weighs heavy on your wings.

It leaks slowly into your painting,

saturates the spray paint with remorse.

_"Shibuya first,"_ you always tell yourself,

but those words are so empty

compared to your Composer's stricken expression.


	4. Hachiko

**Disclaimer: **Last of the cross-posts! Again, requests are welcome; I feel guilty for the shortness of all the chapters so far. You can request character-centric scenerios, pairings, or even just one-word prompts, if you want.

**Summary:** Track #4: _Hachiko__. _Written for the six-word-story challenge. Neku-centric; implied JoshNeku./Prompted by sillygoosemuffin. Cross-posted from my tumblr account.

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**Red Strings**

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Twirl the feather between idle fingers

and sit cross-legged behind Hachiko,

headphones slung down around your neck

as you patiently wait another day

to tell him, "I forgive you."


	5. Just Another Day

**Disclaimer: **_Amulet Misty:_ Thanks so much for the review and follow! It means the world to me.

**Summary: **Track #5:_ Just Another Day. _UzukiKariya./ Requested by Amulet Misty.

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**Just Another Day**

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It was just another day for Koki Kariya. He rolled the bean paste idly around his mouth, savouring the familiar press of it against his tongue. His shades dyed the lights of the Dead God's Pad a drowsy orange, and he leaned further back against the couch, throwing one leg over the other. He tipped his head back with a sigh, hoping to ease the small crick in his neck—

Only to have Uzuki's hand smack him full in the face, her small shriek of indignation reaching his ears shortly after.

"Are you _serious?_ You totally did that on purpose!" He let his head loll to the side, his shades slipping down his nose so that he could see Uzuki's fury in all its glory. Her face was flushed an undignified shade of red, teeth gritted in a snarl. She cupped the black hairpins he usually wore in one clawed hand. Huffing, she dumped them on his lap, and scooted closer on the couch as she tried to remove the two she had been trying to insert into his hair. "I had them in _just _the right spot before you moved!"

He gnawed unconcernedly on the stick of his bean paste. "Deep breaths, girl."

She glared. Fisting one gloved hand in his hair to keep his hair still, she leaned in further still, plucking a hairpin from his lap and sliding it into the hair above his ear. Kariya watched out of the corner of his eye as her tongue poked out between her lips in concentration, and how a crease had formed between her brows. He was tempted to reach up and smooth it away with his thumb, just to see her reaction.

He could sense her animosity fade a bit as she focused on making the _X_ pattern he usually wore his hairpins in. Her wings were half-unfurled, the blue of her eyes a little less peevish than what he was accustomed to. They looked wider like this, without a smirk crinkling them closed or anger narrowing them at the corners: they were the blue of the sky at near-dusk, like how the sky always was as they sat on the 104 building after the day's mission with their bowls of ramen, with him poking at Uzuki with his chop sticks and her threatening to boot him off the roof.

"So, why do you even wear these things like this, anyway?" The sound of her sighing noisily made him come back to himself. She was pushing the last pins into place, her cheeks puffed out in irritation. "It's _such _a waste of time." Her grip on his head had softened, and he leaned into her palm a bit. She didn't seem to notice.

He shrugged. "It's Shibuya. Gotta be a trendsetter."

"I guess." Her nose wrinkled, but she sat back on her heels with a pleased expression. "Ta-da! Done. Finally. Can we get going now? We've wasted enough time here."

He gave his bean paste an obnoxious slurp, just to see her face contort in disgust. "What's the rush? You know, I think one of them's crooked-"

"_Ugh! _No, we're going!" She grabbed at his arm, and hauled him to his feet. Her cheeks had gone blotchy again, and his lips twitched, fighting a smirk.

"Easy, easy. You know, you've been awful handsy with me lately-"

Uzuki's hand smacked full in the face, her enraged scream reaching his ears shortly after.

Yep. Just another day.


	6. Agathusia

**Disclaimer: **_Amulet Misty:_ Thanks so much for the review and follow! It means the world to me.

**Summary: **Track #6:_ Agathusia._ Joshua-centric. Three snapshots of before, during, and after The Game. Slight AU./ Inspired by an RP thread on tumblr.

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**Agathusia**

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'_Mr. H, what happens to a city when its Composer is gone?'_

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The first time the question is asked, it's over a coffee mug that Joshua doesn't sip from. He holds it in one hand instead, letting the heat of it sink into his fingers and bones. His heart beats a measured rhythm against his ribcage, and he leans back in the uncomfortable stool, waiting.

Sanae takes his time wiping down the counter, eyes veiled behind his sunglasses. "Ya mean if there's no replacement?"

Joshua's lips curl. "Exactly."

"Dunno. Why're ya askin'?"

"Curiosity." Joshua can't hear the city's Music, not yet, but the fingers of the hand not occupied by the mug drum out what he imagines it to be. His fingers dance across the countertop as if it was a piano, nails tapping down on invisible keys. Sanae frowns at the smudges they leave behind, and Joshua's smirk grows.

"Just be careful, J."

Joshua lifts his hand away, and hides his laughter behind one cupped palm. "Really, your face is priceless. I'm the last person you should be worrying about." He sets the mug on the counter, and, at Sanae's quirked brow, a few yen on the counter beside it.

"You still planning on entering the Game?" Sanae's lenses are like mirrors, reflecting Joshua's own face back at him. He focuses on his reflection, on the creased brow and strained tilt of his lips, and adjusts his smile accordingly.

"Nosy today, aren't you?" Staring at himself makes something deep inside him twist, and he turns away, jumping down from the stool. He makes to raise his hand and farewell and finds it shaking, so he just tosses his best smile at Sanae from over his shoulder, flipping his hair for good measure before walking out of the door and into the blazing Shibuya sun.

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A bullet and a _bang _and a fall from the Pork City building later, Sanae passes by a Player with a creased brow and a strained tilt to his lips and wishes he hadn't seen it coming.

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'_Mr. H, what happens to a city when its Composer is gone?'_

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The next time the question is asked, Sanae isn't there to answer it. Joshua sits alone in a lightless Wildkat, a mug of coffee in his hands and his revolver carefully placed on the counter beside him. Debris litters the floor, and there's a gash in the wall that Joshua can't seem to keep his eyes off of.

Joshua puts the mug down—there's no sense holding on to it, after all; it's not as if it can warm him anymore anyways—and picks up the gun instead. It feels like a toy in his hand, so clunky and light. He twirls it in time to Shibuya's Music, the cacophonous techno beat that thrums in his veins in place of a heartbeat. The beat that is cacophonous only because of him.

He takes aim, pretends to fire. His smirk is practiced and laced with false gloating, and he points the barrel at one of the menus that had survived Sho's wrath, itches to pull the trigger.

"Understanding people isn't hard." His lips are still curved up, and his mouth frames the words that he had spoken to Neku earlier. "It's impossible." And it is. It is. Sanae's world—Sanae's _logic—_is entirely separate from Joshua's. And Sanae's logic means nothing to Joshua's.

He had thought, back when he was human, that the truth of it would have stopped hurting after the first few centuries.

So this time he does pull the trigger. He shoots at the wall already pocked by the signs of a struggle, and pretends not to notice when his lips start to shake, when his smile starts to fall. More parts of the ceiling start to cave in, and the dust catches in his hair like tears.

He sits alone in the uncomfortable stool, and ignores the fact that Sanae's logic makes more sense than he will ever admit.

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Rewind to the middle of the Week Two, when Neku had sprawled out on the nearest bench and Joshua had giggled, eyes sliding shut in a smile.

"You and Mr. H are close, right?" The redhead had said, and Joshua had seated himself down beside him, tipping his head back as if to better feel the sun's rays.

"Hm, hm. As two peas in a pod," he had answered, glibly. Partially because he had wanted to see Neku's face twist in annoyance, and partially because it had been the truth.

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'_Mr. H, what happens to a city once its Composer is gone?'_

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Joshua never does find out what happens, which irks him, in a way.

Joshua's wings are white arcs that block out the sky. Below him, Shibuya throbs out dissonant tune, with the clashing of symbols and violins that tear through the underlying electronic rhythm.

"_I did it to save Shibuya, J. But I don't think that it can be saved. Not anymore."_ Sanae's words—his last words, before They took him away to string him up by his wings in heaven, before he had shaken his head at Joshua and before They had cuffed his hands together, before They had dragged him away and his sunglasses had clattered to the floor andandand—play in his head like a broken record. Joshua twirls the revolver in time to the repetition of the words, smile fixed firmly in place.

It's only a matter of moments before They come to take him away, he knows. His lips curl, and his nails tap out a measured rhythm against the Pork City roof. He wonders what the city's Music will be like, years and years from now. A part of him wishes that he'd be able to hear it.

'_Mr. H, what happens to a city once its Composer is gone?'_

"Let's find out, shall we?" he says, and ends it the way it began: with a bullet and a _bang _and a fall from the Pork City building.

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_**Agathusia: Self-sacrifice of one's own life for the sake of the greater good.**_


End file.
